


I won’t make you any more tired

by visiblemarket



Series: All Of This A Way To Go [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Feelings, Frottage, M/M, Post-Canon, Smut, stealth angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five minutes ago, Clint was walking down an empty corridor, wondering what he should get for lunch. Now, he’s being dragged into an empty bathroom and made out with against the door. He’s not complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I won’t make you any more tired

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this song](http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858889024/).

People think they know Phil Coulson: Decent guy. Nice suits. Kind eyes. Huge fanboy.

SHIELD agents, who look a little closer and have a certain amount of insider info, think they know him better: Calm in the face of extreme danger. Kind of a badass. The guy you want by your side when the shit hits the fan. _Huge_ fanboy. 

His friends, who probably don't think about it too much, know the details: Music lover, the more eclectic the better. Fast driver. Dirty fighter. The kind of guy who roots for the underdog, who believes in heroes but never quite realizes he is one. 

And none of them are _wrong_ , exactly. 

But what Clint can bet, though, is that _none_ of the people who've ever come in any kind of contact or formed any kind of opinion on Phil Coulson would ever suspect he's the kind of guy who'd drag a coworker into an empty room just to make out with him against the door. Yeah, Clint's pretty happy to be the only one in possession of that particular bit of intel.

It's kind of a new thing. Before Loki, before Phil's heart had nearly been shredded and Clint had gotten some unwanted perspective on how that might feel, they took their time in the bedroom and kept their distance otherwise. But now, in the three weeks since Phil's been cleared for both work and sex, he seems determined to combine them in ways that Phil-from-before wouldn’t have even considered. Clint-from-now, on the other hand? Not complaining. 

He lets himself be grabbed, dragged, and pushed against all available flat surfaces as necessary. It’s not exactly a hardship, and it's what Phil wants, and right now, he's perfectly willing to give Phil absolutely anything he so much as casually thinks about, whenever he needs it.

Like now, for instance: five minutes ago Clint had been walking down an empty corridor and wondering what he should get for lunch, and now he's being tugged into a single occupancy bathroom by a firm but gentle hand around his elbow. 

"Hey," Phil says, not touching him anymore, just looking at him. He likes to do that, give him a good once-over before starting anything for real. It's a little unnerving. Clint's not sure what he'd do if after one of those moments of steady observation Phil just shook his head and said no thanks, but so far it hasn't come up. 

"Hello there." Clint smiles slow, leaning back against the door and making a point of locking it. 

"Are you busy?" Phil always asks, which Clint thinks is pointless, because Agent Coulson has access to his schedule and gets notifications about every meeting or appointment Clint ever has to keep within SHIELD. But he does always ask, probably to give Clint a chance to back out. Which again: pointless.

"Not yet," he says, cocky. Phil likes him cocky. Clint likes Phil happy. Overall, it works out. 

Phil smiles at him, a tired, pleased smile. His hands settle on Clint's waist, press him against the wall as he leans in. Clint takes a breath while he still can. 

Phil's always been a good kisser, but now his mouth is like a fire against Clint's, stealing his oxygen and leaving him shaky and aching and raw. It's a constant reminder of how much he needs Phil and that's terrifying, but instead of pushing him away, like he would have Before, he kisses back. Wraps his arms around Phil, and does everything he can to anchor him to the moment, to every point of contact, to the feedback loop of want and affection and familiarity that builds up between them.

He arches, hips rolling a little against Phil's. Notices that Phil's already hard, and grins.

Phil rolls his eyes. "Yes, Barton, I'm very happy to see you."

"Oh, _Barton_ , huh?" He doesn't really mind; he actually kind of likes it when Phil goes there. But he likes teasing him more, and that little huffing sound Phil makes when he's too distracted to come up with a better comeback, he likes that best. Phil makes it, then grabs him by the hips and holds him tight against the wall.

"Clint." Phil says, sharp on the _t_ , and that alone shouldn't really do it for him but it totally does. He groans, and tries to rub up against him again, but can't get the leverage for it. Phil's hands keep him still and straining. 

His arms are free, though, and he wraps one around Phil's neck and drags him back into a kiss. His other is tight around Phil's waist, keeping him close. Phil's tongue slides against his and Clint sucks at it encouragingly, drops his hand to grab at Phil's ass.

Phil laughs and breaks away, breathing quick and sharp against Clint’s chin, then into his neck. 

"You're a menace," Phil murmurs, lips and teeth teasing at his earlobe. 

"You love it," he says, and Phil hums noncommittally, warm and wet into Clint's skin. He loosens his grip on Clint's waist, and Clint takes the opportunity, squirming until he can feel the familiar outline of Phil's erection sliding against his. There are too many layers of clothes between them for it to be satisfying, but the friction alone is enticing. He rolls his hips and Phil pushes back, probably bracing on his toes to get that much pressure on him. And it's good, quick and frantic, Phil panting into his neck, but it's not enough.

"Fuck me," he says, and Phil makes a choked sound before reaching a hand between them to stroke at his cock.

"Can't." 

"Why?"

"I…have to be on a plane in an hour."

Clint groans, his head falling back against the door. He doesn't bother asking why Phil hadn't told him; this _is_ Phil telling him. "Where?" 

"D.C." Which means another inter-agency meeting, safe as anything can be, but he’d still rather have heard about it before now. 

Phil licks his neck, slow and distracting, and Clint squirms, but forces himself to focus. "How long?" 

"Just overnight. Had to—had to see you before I left."

Which if flattering as hell, but Clint's still kind of pissed. Not enough to say anything when Phil's getting his belt open and his hand down Clint's pants, but still. A little.

He may be a little rougher than he needs to be in stripping Phil of his jacket as a result. Phil doesn't seem overly concerned, either about the abruptness or the fact that Clint's let said jacket fall to the floor behind them in a crumpled heap. All he seems to care about is kissing Clint and sneaking his hands under Clint's clothing. And, well, Clint's not made of stone. He nips at Phil's tongue once it's in his mouth again and slides his thigh between Phil's. Phil rocks against him, and it gives Clint the leverage he needs to flip them around.

Phil makes a noise of surprise and some frustration, and if Clint were more of an ass he'd pin him tight, keep his distance and just stare at him for a while. But he's not, and they don't have the time to pretend otherwise, so he just leans in, mumbles apologetically into his neck. 

The proximity to Phil is enough to make his hips jerk and it starts involuntary but he goes with it, picking up his rhythm as he reaches for Phil's tie. He's just sort of screwing with Phil at first, but Phil grabs him by the waist, hard enough to bruise, and meets each roll of Clint's hips with a jolting thrust of his own. Clint almost forgets about Phil's tie, but once he remembers he's quick about it, loosening it just enough and flicking open the two top buttons of his shirt. 

He buries his face between Phil's neck and shoulder. Bites at the skin there, traces the shifting muscles underneath with his tongue as Phil moves against him. He’s careful, makes sure to stay below the collar of Phil’s shirt. Thinks the tie'll rub right over the mark he's making when he does it up again, and the thought makes him smile. He presses his teeth into Phil's skin, and Phil shudders, groaning as Clint slides his hands down his chest and unzips his fly. 

He palms Phil's erection through his underwear, the hardness and the heat making his mouth water, but if they don't have _time_...he just sucks at Phil's neck, breathing harder every time Phil twitches. He feels Phil exhale hot and wet against his temple and kisses further up his neck, eager to taste as much of him as he can right now.

Phil's hand is around his cock suddenly, skin on skin, and Clint thrusts impatiently into his grip but Phil just gives him a quick squeeze before letting go. 

"Clint, I—wait," he says, and Clint does, even though he can feel Phil's erection practically throbbing against his stomach, even though he's aching for release himself. He takes as calming breath as he can, but the inhale just brings Phil's scent and his taste, and then there's the fact that Phil's slid one hand under his shirt and another in his hair.

He drops his mouth to Phil's neck again, tracing Phil's pulse. "What's wrong?" he murmurs, under Phil's ear, and bites back a groan as he feels Phil shiver. Phil strokes his back, his rough, familiar palms erratic on Clint’s skin. Clint glances up, trying to get a read on him, but his eyes are closed and he's biting his bottom lip. "Phil?"

Phil doesn't say anything, just lets out a slow breath through his nose. When he's done, he opens his eyes and looks at Clint like he's frankly astounded to see him there, like his presence is all that amazing, and Clint is past trying to play it cool.

"Jesus, Phil," he growls. "C'mere." He snakes an arm around Phil's waist and pulls him up tight. He's still achingly hard and makes sure they're lined up before rubbing against him with less finesse than he would have managed had he not been entirely desperate. Phil murmurs something into his hair and drags him closer, fingertips digging into Clint's back. 

"Good?" 

"Fine, yes, _great_ ," Phil says, thrusting up against him, and Clint grins into his neck. 

He keeps smiling as they rut against each other, laughs low and breathless and hopelessly happy as their bodies try to pick a rhythm beyond _faster_ and _now_. He lets out something that's closer to a sob when he comes all over Phil's undoubtedly expensive white shirt, but Phil's probably too busy trying to get his breath back to notice.

*

Phil doesn't really seem to mind about the shirt. Or about the jacket. Clint knows he's going to change before he goes, but he indulges in the fantasy of Agent Coulson going out into the world with his ruined shirt, his wrinkled jacket, his swollen red mouth, and his overall blissed-out, just-fucked expression. It's a nice image.

Clint smiles from where he's leaning on the sink. Phil, in the process of smoothing down his tie, catches his eye and smiles back.

"Problem, Agent Barton?" he says, picking his jacket off the floor. 

Clint forces down his smile and makes his tone serious. "No, sir."

Phil, back to about 70% Agent Coulson levels of presentation now that his jacket's on, insinuates himself into Clint's space. "Good." He frames Clint's face with his palms and kisses him, too quickly to let it become anything else. "See you later." 

"Sooner's better," Clint calls out after him, and Phil waves without turning around.

Clint takes a couple of deep breaths once he's gone, looks at himself in the mirror, and throws some cold water on his face. He drags a wet hand through his hair and over the back of his neck for good measure, and makes sure he's managed to wipe the grin off his face before leaving.

Fifteen minutes later, maybe thirty seconds before he's able to pay for the lunch he's seriously earned, the alarms start going off. And, well. It's not like he should really be _surprised_. 

He sighs, and hopes he’ll be able to hold on to his residual post-Phil buzz for a little while longer.

*

Fire-breathing lizards wandering through Levels 7 through 10 of HQ is bad enough, especially since they're in the vents. The fact that their skin is impenetrable by arrows, bullets, and every other projectile Clint has tried is doing absolutely _nothing_ for his mood.

And then they start exploding. Clint calls it: his buzz is officially gone.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=15127300#t15127300), with obvious deviations.


End file.
